As he stared, he became aware of a shadowy figure staring right back at him and he almost gasped. The shape wasn’t as blurred as they usually were. In fact, Josh could see the man clearly, something that had never happened to him before. He felt his eyes open wide when the spirit took off a broad-brimmed hat and swept it before him as he bowed.
Josh hissed out a breath in surprise, then looked quickly around to see if Tess had noticed, but she’d already gone in through the imposing front door. He was alone, so he was undeniably the only person the ghostly figure could be greeting.
Slowly, if a bit self-consciously, Josh bowed back, pretending to have a hat in his hand. He felt a drongo doing it, but imagined he caught a smile on the spirit’s face as he straightened up. As if borne on the wind, he heard the words ‘Croeso i Gymru’. He frowned, then understanding dawned – it was what it had said on all the signs near the borders of Wales: ‘Welcome to Wales.’
He smiled and bowed again, but when he next looked up, the shadow was gone and he shivered. It was the first time he’d ever interacted with any of the entities he saw and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. Grandma had told him to ignore them – were there consequences if you didn’t? She’d never said.
But the exchange of bows left Josh with a strange feeling of belonging, as if the spirit had been telling him Wales was where he should be looking for his future home.
Perhaps he was right and he was being hasty in wanting to sell Merrick Court straight away? He’d have to think about that later.
He headed for the door, where Tess was peering out, no doubt wondering where he’d got to. It was time to see the inside of the house.
‘So this is the Victorian part of the house, with high ceilings, lots of cornicing and big marble fireplaces. No one goes in here in winter as it’s absolutely freezing.’
Tess knew she sounded like a tour guide, but that was what she was, in effect. Despite Josh’s consideration in not turfing her out immediately, she was acutely aware that what she was showing him was his. Apart from the contents, of course.
‘Uhm, did Mr Harrison tell you that everything inside Merrick Court belongs to me?’ She thought it best to ask since Josh didn’t seem to have taken in much of what the solicitor had told him.
‘Yes, he mentioned that. I figured it doesn’t matter if I’m selling the place, but seeing it like this now I’m starting to wonder …’
‘What?’ Tess noticed he’d said ‘if’ not ‘when’. Was he changing his mind?
‘It looks so much better as someone’s home. If all the furniture was gone it would just be a big echoey house and might be harder to sell. You’d see all the faded bits of wallpaper and chipped paintwork.’ Josh lifted up an old photo of some long-forgotten grandmother or great-aunt. ‘Maybe we should work together? We could try to find a buyer who wants both the house and what’s in it. That way you might get a better price too.’
Tess thought about it. She knew there wasn’t much of actual value here, but someone who wanted a proper country house with the right style of interior might pay over the odds for the privilege. Everything at Merrick Court had been collected over the centuries so it was the genuine thing, not some interior decorator’s idea of country chic. She thought of Rosie and what she’d said earlier. Tess wouldn’t get much out of a deal with her. ‘Yes, perhaps,’ she said, not wanting to commit herself to anything at this stage. ‘I could at least wait with selling the contents until you’ve had some viewings.’
‘Sweet. I reckon that would help.’
They continued through the ground-floor rooms, with Tess explaining what they were for and how old each part of the house was. When they arrived back in the grand entrance hall, Rosie and Louis were just coming down the stairs.
‘Oh, there you are!’ Rosie started talking the instant she caught sight of Tess. ‘I wanted to ask you about that little landscape by Hinton. It’s a particular favourite of mine. Did you send it off for cleaning? Only, I can’t find it and … oh, you have a guest?’
Tess saw Rosie’s eyes open wide as she took in the sight of Josh. She wondered what Rosie made of him but guessed from the slight frown on her sister-in-law’s face that he didn’t pass muster. It was probably the ripped jeans and T-shirt. Or possibly the stubble. Rosie’s husband was never allowed to dress that casually, poor man. Pressed chinos and a polo shirt were required at the very least.
‘Uhm, not exactly,’ Tess said. ‘Josh, this is Rosalyn Edmonton, my sister-in-law and her son Louis. Rosie, this is Josh, the heir.’ She could perhaps have softened the blow a little, but Rosie was always so direct herself it felt good to get her own back for once.
‘The what? No!’ Rosie now resembled nothing so much as a bug-eyed frog as her eyes became even bigger. ‘But …’ She turned to Tess and scowled. ‘You didn’t tell me he was coming.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Tess shrugged. ‘I found him in the garden.’
‘Found him in the …’
Josh stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘Josh Owens. Nice to meet you, Mrs Edmonton.’
Rosie’s frown didn’t let up. ‘Don’t you mean Lord Merrick? If that’s really who you are. I assume you’ve brought documentation to prove it?’
‘Mum!’ Louis hissed, entering the conversation for the first time. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
‘Well, how do we know he’s telling the truth unless he can show us some proof?’ Rosie persisted.
Josh smiled at Louis and winked. ‘No worries, mate, I can indeed. I’ll go get the papers from my car later. But I’d rather not be called Lord anything, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Well, really!’ Rosie seemed to be having trouble with this concept and Tess could understand it. To the family, being an earl was a huge honour and something they were immensely proud of. Josh didn’t seem to care at all. But then he wasn’t English, they had to remember that. Presumably they saw things differently in New Zealand.
‘Shall we continue the tour?’ Tess suggested. It was clear that Rosie needed some time to digest this.
‘Sure. Lead on.’
‘Hold on a moment.’ Rosie held up a hand. ‘Are you intending to keep the house?’
Tess cringed. Rosie didn’t hang around, did she?
‘Nah, I don’t think so.’ Josh sounded less sure than he had earlier. ‘Why?’
‘My husband and I would like to buy it from you. For Louis. It’s his birthright.’ Rosie indicated an embarrassed Louis who tried to blend into the background while shaking his head. ‘He’s a bit young still and doesn’t appreciate things quite as he ought, but he will, in time.’
Josh raised his eyebrows and fixed Rosie with those clear green eyes. ‘His birthright? Funny, I was under the impression it was mine. As the “heir” and all.’
Rosie flushed. ‘Well, yes, in a manner of speaking, but what I meant was Louis has grown up expecting this to be his—’
‘I have not!’ Louis hissed, but his mother ignored him.
‘—and I’m assuming you won’t want to make your home here, so far from your own country.’
‘The jury’s out on that one,’ Josh said. ‘For now, I’d like to keep my options open. If and when I decide to sell, I’ll let you know. You’d have to talk with the estate agents.’
Rosie attempted a smile. ‘Well, I thought perhaps we needn’t involve them. These things can be so costly and they’re absolute sharks those agents. Better to keep it in the family, yes?’
‘No. And like I said, I haven’t decided anything yet.’ Josh’s blunt answer made Rosie blink, but he didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the rest of the house now. Tess?’
Tess nodded. ‘Yes, of course. This way.’ She led the way up the grand staircase and tried not to giggle at the sight of Rosie’s mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. It was very seldom anyone got the better of her and it was a sight for sore eyes as far as Tess was concerned.
&nbs
p; ‘I see what you meant back in the shed,’ Josh said as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘Is she always like that?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think she means to be rude really. She’s just forthright.’
‘Is that what it’s called over here?’ Josh muttered.
When Tess had shown him everything he wanted to see, he thanked her. ‘Now I’d better go check out Bryn’s.’
‘Are you sure? As you’ve seen, there’s plenty of room here.’ Tess felt this was all wrong.
‘Really, I’ll be fine. I was expecting to doss down on the floor in a sleeping bag so Bryn’s guest room will probably be an improvement on that.’ He smiled in a way that sent a tingle of awareness through Tess. ‘I’ll maybe see you later. I want to have a wander round the outside too.’
After he’d gone, Tess went to scrub her hands and nails in the butler’s pantry as she was still a bit grubby from gardening. The water was a bit cold at first so she let it run, watching as it swirled down into the plughole, the vortex mesmerisingly perfect. Her mind drifted away and all she was aware of was a pair of very fine green eyes …
Josh stopped on the gravel outside the front door and drew in a couple of huge breaths of fresh spring air, bending over to brace his hands against his knees. He felt as though he’d been through a fierce workout, both mentally and physically. His brain was all scrambled with too much information and a kaleidoscope of images jostling for space. The reality of Merrick Court had knocked him for six.
When he’d first been informed of his inheritance, he’d imagined a largish house in the countryside, but nothing like this. This was a bloody great big mansion. And old; ancient, in parts. Wandering through all the rooms behind Tess had been like touring some royal palace and he just couldn’t take in the fact that it was his. Why had his father never mentioned being related to English aristocracy? It was exactly the sort of thing he’d have been proud of. But perhaps he hadn’t known? Or maybe he’d been ashamed of the way they were connected. As far as Josh could make out from Mr Harrison, it was through a younger son who’d been such a black sheep he’d been sent to Australia as a condemned criminal. He’d gambled away everything he had, and more, stealing to fund his addiction, then ended up on one of the convict ships before later making his way to New Zealand after serving his sentence.
His father wouldn’t have liked that, even though it was quite fashionable nowadays to have convict ancestors. No, he would have hated it. Which, conversely, made Josh like it.
‘Thanks, Mr Black Sheep, I owe you,’ he murmured, then shook his head at himself. He was talking to thin air. Losing it big time. But was it any wonder?
He stood up straight and went to his car to retrieve a plan of the estate that Harrison had given him. He’d walk around some of the fields, clear his head a bit before finding Bryn again. There was an old stile not far from the gate where he’d come in earlier, so he climbed over that and set off along the perimeter of the nearest field. This was what he needed; some space to think.
It was a glorious day and the fields were edged with hedgerows where little birds hopped in and out, twittering away. Some of the bushes were full of blossom and their leaves were that amazing green colour only spring produced – clean and fresh. Josh took note of the soil, a rich dark reddish type that looked very fertile but heavy with moisture. Great for growing whatever you needed. In the fields used for pasture, the grass was lush, perfect for sheep and cattle. All round the edges trees grew – oak, beech and others he didn’t recognise. Some of the oak trees looked to be hundreds of years old, their girth impressive. Josh had the sudden thought that his ancestors had seen them too, touched them, and had walked here for hundreds of years before him. It was an odd feeling. Emotional.
And nothing like he’d ever felt for his father’s sheep station in New Zealand.
Not that you could really compare the two. The station had comprised mostly hills and wide open valleys, undulating tussock-covered land crossed by rivers and with high mountain ranges as a backdrop. It was a totally different environment, thousands of square kilometres to keep track of, necessitating the use of four-wheel drive vehicles for mustering the sheep and sometimes even helicopters. Here everything felt much smaller, enclosed, but not in a bad way, like he was hemmed in. Rather, it was manageable. He could see himself herding the sheep from one field to another with just the help of a trusted sheep dog. No quad bikes would be necessary. Nor big teams of helpers.
He stopped to lean against one particularly vast tree trunk and closed his eyes, letting the sun warm his face while he tried to process it all.
Did he really want to part with this?
Then again, how could he keep it? He didn’t know the first thing about being a landowner and sheep farmer – or a lord for that matter – in the UK. But maybe it wasn’t so different? A sheep was a sheep wherever it was in the world. And as far as he knew, there were no rules for how a lord had to behave, so surely that was up to him?
He sighed. This was something that would require a lot more thought than he’d envisaged.
Chapter Eight
Raglan Castle, 22nd May 1646
‘Are you sure you want to do this for us? You’re not afraid of the dark?’
‘No, the darker the better as far as I’m concerned. It’s the people that may be lurking in the shadows I have to look out for.’ It was late in the evening and those shadows hid Arabella’s face at the moment. She hoped Lady Margaret couldn’t hear the fear in her voice. Of course she was afraid, but she owed the marquis’s family a huge debt and she would have done anything they asked of her. She tried not to think about the treasures that had passed through her hands that evening, family jewels that were worth a fortune. All entrusted to her care. ‘I’ll try to be extra careful.’
‘See that you are.’
She glanced through the cross-shaped arrow-loop in the wall of the Great Tower, checking one last time for movement. There was none. ‘All clear,’ she whispered.
Outside, the sheen from the sliver of a moon glistened on the still waters of the moat, but all was quiet. Not even a rat stirred; probably all sound asleep somewhere safe, as was everyone inside the castle. Lady Margaret led the way down through the family’s private apartments to the Fountain Court, glancing around to make sure no one else was about once they were outside. The Court seemed empty and the two women hurried into the vaulted passage leading to the South Gate. A sleepy sentry sat in the guard chamber on the left, but when he saw Lady Margaret, he didn’t protest and allowed her to unbolt the small door set into the larger gate doors. Just before Arabella slipped out, the lady gave her a swift, but fierce hug.
‘Godspeed. I will pray for you,’ she whispered, and pulled something out of a pocket which she placed in Arabella’s hand. ‘Here, this is for your trouble. Hide it well and sell it if you are ever in need, although it’s supposed to bring luck to its owner so, if at all possible, do keep it.’
‘But … no! I couldn’t possibly accept something so valuable.’ Arabella knew what it was as she could feel the outline of a large cross in her palm with a long chain attached. It was a beautiful necklace Lady Margaret had often worn, the cross set in gold with pink and blue sapphires, and amethysts. Much too expensive a gift for her to accept. ‘And if it gives good fortune, should you not keep it for yourself, my lady?’
‘No. You are young; I want you to have a chance at happiness such as I’ve already found with my husband. And if you succeed tonight, it might bring us both luck.’ Lady Margaret closed both hands around Arabella’s. ‘I won’t take no for an answer. Now go and I hope to see you at dawn.’
‘Very well. Thank you, my lady. I’ll do my very best. And I will give it back if you ever need it, I swear.’
As she slipped outside, swiftly crossing the bridge to head down towards the Bowling Green and the former parkland beyond, Arabella shivered with fear and excitement. At last she was doing something to help and she would succeed.
Failure was not an o
ption.
Rhys tried to delay going to bed for as long as possible. Sharing a small room with a group of snoring officers was not conducive to a good night’s sleep and therefore the longer he could stay awake, the easier it would be for him to drop off once he finally tried it. There were others even more uncomfortable than him, probably crammed in like pilchards in a barrel, and he’d slept in many worse places himself, but right now he was wide awake and would only toss and turn. Far better to be outside for a while.
In the Stone Court there were others who were awake, playing cards or dice while waiting for their turn at guard duty, so he slipped through the servant’s passage into the Great Hall and from there to the Fountain Court. Here, all was quiet and peaceful, and he settled himself on a staircase in the far corner, between the guest accommodation and the Long Gallery. The nearby walls threw shadows all around him and he doubted anyone would see him unless he moved.
The stone walls behind his shoulders were cool, but fairly smooth, the ashlar pieces hewn by a master stonemason. The soft night breeze brought the scent of fields and meadows beyond the castle’s walls, and he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the peace wash over him. It was rare to have any solitude here and it was all the more welcome for that.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, but just as he was about to move and seek his bed, he saw two shadowy figures emerge from a door leading to the marquis’s apartments on the other side of the courtyard, by the Great Tower. Two women, judging by their outlines, hurrying out with furtive movements. Rhys’s interest was piqued.
When one of the two shadows stepped into a beam of moonlight for an instant, his senses sprang into full alert. Arabella, he’d swear to it. No one else had hair like liquid gold and the long tendrils snaking out from underneath her cap were unmistakeable. What was she doing creeping around so late at night? She should be in her bed. Was she a spy? And who was the other woman with her?
The Velvet Cloak of Moonlight Page 7